


Valentine's Day Stories

by Saphirott



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Drunk Dean Winchester, Fluff and Humor, Jensen and Jared holidays, M/M, One Shot, Romantic Weekend, Sam Winchester Takes Care of Dean Winchester, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 02:34:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17758139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saphirott/pseuds/Saphirott
Summary: On the occasion of Valentine's Day, I bring you two small one shot. One wincest and one J2. A little humour, a little feelings and a lot of love.I hope you like it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Historias de San Valentín](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9699737) by [Saphirott](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saphirott/pseuds/Saphirott). 



> Hello, everybody. 
> 
> Here I am again trying to share with you my stories originally written in Spanish. As I always say, I try to do my best, but I am aware that there will be mistakes that I hope you can forgive. If any of you dare to be my beta reader, I would thank you with my soul. 
> 
> About the titles of the two stories... Well, BECAUSE A GREAT STORY DOESN'T START WITH SOMEONE EATING SALAD, it's a well-known phrase I guess all over the world, there's not much to explain. Regarding WITH YOU, BREAD AND ONIONS, this phrase is a Spanish expression, a saying, it means that you will stay with the person you love in any situation, even the most difficult. Bread and onion was the only thing many families had to eat during the civil war.

BECAUSE A GREAT STORY DOESN'T START WITH SOMEONE EATING SALAD.  
Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester (Wincest)

By: Saphirott

 

“Is something wrong with you?.” Sam asked curiously. 

They were at a small motel in Pennsylvania, investigating a possible vampire nest. They had spent the morning asking here and there, gathering testimonies and trying to get an idea of the situation. Now, at eight o'clock in the evening, Sam was working on his laptop, while Dean was lying on the couch, reading the reports that the local sheriff had given them; or so it seemed. 

Dean had been staring for a while, slipping his index finger over his lips in a thoughtful attitude and a slightly frowning frown. The younger's innate curiosity had long since been alerted. 

“Huh?,” replied the older, somewhat absent. 

“What if something happens to you?,” he repeats. Dean clear his troath something nervous and straightens up in his seat, ordering the reports in his hand. 

“No. Nothing, what would have to happen?,” he answers something annoying. 

“I don't know, you tell me. You're weird.”

Sam says it in a casual tone, but actually, he's a little worried. Dean has been strange, absent and thoughtful for a few days and that is never good in him, that means that something is eating away at him inside, undermining his thoughts like the drop that, although minuscule, little by little and with time, drills a deep well. Only five months ago he escaped from hell and Sam knows that he still hides many things from him, but he trusts that his brother will finally open up to him, he only hopes that it won't be too late. 

“I'm not weird,” he protested with disdain. “In this family, the only weird one is you. So, shut up and follow your things, tyke.” The rogue smile comes to his lips, always satisfied to be able to mess with his brother, even though that's not what he's thinking about. Sam snort, fed up with a nickname that hasn't made sense in years and goes back to his own, ignoring Dean. 

It's ten o'clock at night and the situation hasn't changed. Sam glances sidelong at his brother, who continues to be absorbed, pretending to read. His leg moves in a constant sway and if he keeps biting his nails like that, he will have stumps instead of fingers in no time. 

“Aren't you going out?.” Attack the chestnut again. Dean stops and looks at him, the green of his eyes seems surprised and for a second, to Sam, it seems that he shines with some panic.

“Why?,” he asks a quicker question than necessary. Sam looks at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“I don't know... It's February 14, it's Valentine's Day...”

“And?.” Now Sam is getting scared. 

“What do you mean, and? What about the desperate, lonely women who want to give away the love they have left over, and who are you to deny them anything?”

“Yes, well...,” he says nervously scratching his neck. “That's true..., poors... ,” he clears his throat. “But, I don't know, we're on the case. It doesn't seem right to leave you here with all the work...”

“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?.” Sam interrupts, looking at him in shock. 

Dean shuts up, looks at him for a few seconds. Sam feels the scrutiny of his eyes, they seem confused, worried, is thinking of asking, when finally, it seems that Dean is going to say something. Wait, but in the end nothing, the confused expression of his brother, disappears under that mask of self-sufficiency that he has so well rehearsed, he jumps up and reaches the jacket that hung from the back of one of the chairs. 

“You know what?,” he says, putting on the collar of it. “You're right. It's for a good cause,” laughs, “Don't you want to come? You could use, little brother, you look like you're accumulating too many tensions," he joked. 

“I'm out," answered the chestnut, with a smile that doesn't illuminate his eyes. “I'm not gonna go begging.”

“Hey,” offended protest. “I don't beg, I only let them see my availability,” he says opening his arms and showing himself, with a smile on his lips that warms and hurts at the same time the heart of the tallest. “Don't wait for me raised...”

Dean sits behind the wheel of the Impala and feels stupid, stupid and cowardly. Who are you kidding? It's been there forever, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. Going to hell opened his eyes, when he thought he had lost everything, that he would never have the chance. He has the decision, but he lacks the courage and that's like having nothing. He turns the key and the engine of his purring baby, he leaves the motel parking lot, without really knowing what to do. 

Sam sighs when the door closes, a sad smile comes to his lips. He wish it were otherwise, but that's Dean, the scoundrel, the seducer, the womanizer... oh, of course his brother is much more than that, he's the protector and the friend, he's his meeting point, where Sam can be Sam, Samuel, Sammy, because his brother knows and understands each and every one of them. Yes, Dean is much more, but now are things that do not come to the story. 

Dean has lost count, the glasses follow one another at the bar, full, empty and full again. He's still there, just drinking. Many girls have come forward, willing to share the loneliness of that day, when being with someone is an obligatory premise. Blondes, brunettes, with warm smiles and soft skin. Dean flirts with them innately, smiles at them mischievously and dazzles them with the emerald glow of his gaze, but in the end, nothing. The girls get bored and look for other more willing targets, perhaps the blonde was too high an expectation. 

Sam wakes up startled, someone struggles with the door lock. He gets up stealthily, carrying the dagger they always keep under their pillow. He grasps the doorknob with one hand, while his other arm, armed, is tense and ready to attack. He opens suddenly and the body that was struggling with the lock, stumbles forward, about to fall. 

“Dean?,” he asks with a half-shriek, while quickly grabbing his arm, preventing him from stamping himself on the ground. Dean sits up unstable and looks at him with cloudy eyes and an idiot smile. 

“Saaammy...,” he answers with difficulty. “I'm sorry dude... did I wake you up?.” Sam looks at him with a raised eyebrow and an expression that comes to say, "What do you think?". Dean seems embarrassed and tries as he can to justify himself. “I don't know..., no..., I don't know what the hell is going on with the key..., it was the damn key Sammy, it's his fault... I swear to you..., look...,” he says raising his hand, to show the guilty one. When he has it in front of him, he looks at it strangely. “Where is it?.... Sammy... Where...? I had it here...,” he says looking confused from one side to the other. 

Sam closes his eyes and sighs tired, he's too asleep to deal with such a drunk Dean. He crouches with a face of annoyance and picks up the keys to the floor, putting them in the hand of his triumphant smiling brother. “Look! I told you I had them...,” he says satisfied. “What are you doing up?,” he says, looking at him curiously, as if he had just realized he was there. 

“Come on, I'll take you to bed.” He surrounds his waist to give him some stability and starts pulling on him. 

“Are you angry?,” he asks sadly. 

“No..., but next time, tell the woman on turn that she has to put up with you all night and not dumped the problem on to me.”

“You're angry...,” he says when Sam makes him sit on the bed. The youngest ignores him and starts to take off his jacket, but Dean takes his hands between his own and looks at him with the eyes of a slaughtered Lamb. “Don't get angry...,” begged, the lip trembles and squeezes his hands with a certain desperation. “Not with me... please Sammy, you can't get angry with me....”

Sam is angry, and upset, but he can't be immune to that expressive, open look that's loaded with sadness and worry. He arms himself with patience and smiles, taking his brother's hands away, in order to undress him. 

“I'm not angry Dean,” he condescendingly says. “Now, let me help you, okay?”

Dean's face lights up like a child's, smiles from ear to ear and wrinkles in his eyes, and Sam can't help laughing to himself, looking at him in that way. Dean lets himself be done, like a little boy his mother helps to undress, raises his arms when he asks for it and so he can take off his shirt. Sam ducks to untie his boots and that's when he feels his brother's hands tangling in his hair. 

“It's very long," he says critically, as he slips his fingers through the silky strands, "you should cut it a little bit, even though it suits you... it's always looked good on you.”

Sam lifts his head, looking at him strangely, the hands of the oldest even in his hair. 

“Doesn't that make me look like a girl?,” funny asked. Dean looks at him strangely for a moment, as if he didn't know what he was talking about and then he gets serious. 

“No,” whisper, “you could never look like a girl.”

“Dean..., are you okay?.” Dean nods silently, but his eyes are glued to him, in a way that makes him tremble. Sam looks away and returns to the task of removing his boots. Dean bows and sinks his nose into his hair, breathing in hard. Sam pulls away a bit, stunned. 

“What's wrong with my hair today?.” Dean has a peaceful look and a melancholy smile.

“I like its smell,” he says. Sam continues with his questioning look. “Now..., it's different from when you were little, you know? Remember when he used to wash your head?,” asked, emotional. 

“I remember..." Sam answers with a smile. 

 

“You hated strawberry shampoo...”

“Who wouldn't hate it?,” Sam said. “Dad always bought it because it was for kids and you, you always managed to get a coconut one, which was the one I liked.” Sam laughs when he remembers and Dean looks at him with a beatific smile. 

“Now you smell different ..., lemon and mint ...,” said thoughtful. “I also like”

Sam looks at him without understanding, his eyes cross and he can swear that there are two galaxies colliding, thousands and thousands of stars scattering everywhere, the theory of infinity, he reads it, but he cannot understand it. Dean is a mystery to him right now, and he doesn't know if it's because he's drunk, because he's asleep or if he's seeing things he just wants to see. Dean glides his fingers back through his hair, from his forehead to the back of his head, alternating one hand with the other, looking through him, as if he were somewhere else, lost in his mind. 

“I liked to wash your head...,” whispers. 

“Dean?.” Sam holds his wrists and stops him, pulls them away from his hair and looks at his questioning. His pulse beats in his veins with an unbridled rhythm and he doesn't feel like he has the strength to control it. “What's going on?”

“It's all right...,” he answers suddenly seriously, as if all the effects of alcohol had disappeared. Sam suddenly feels self-conscious and knows that this conversation must end, that it is getting out of hand. 

“You've had too much to drink," he says, trying to lie him down. Dean resists.  
“Not enough...,” he whispers, looking away from his brother's grey eyes. “I still remember the questions...”

Sam rubs his eyes with tiredness and doesn't know if he wants to know, what he does know is that Dean is going to drive him crazy. 

“What questions Dean? God, because you didn't stay with the blonde, or the brunette, or whatever it was you were looking for,” he mutters tired.

“I wasn't looking for anyone!,” offended protest, for a second later, to lower the tone again. “I wasn't looking..., I had found it..., Sammy, I had already found it.” And there is resignation in his voice and a point of melancholy. 

“What, Dean?.” The blond remains silent, his gaze lost, running through the walls and ceiling of the room. When he looks at him again, he seems surprised to see him there again, the green of his eyes is cloudy again, watered down by the excess alcohol, which is now also reflected on his face, in that absurd attempt at a smile. Dean tries to coordinate his hand to reach the minor's cheek, caressing it with trembling fingers. Sam feels a chill running down his spine, but he doesn't move, he doesn't say anything.

“Sammy... will you be my Valentine?,” he says with an alcoholic smile. 

Sam rises like a spring, as if he had been touched with a bare wire, and the electricity had thrown him a meter backwards. He raises his hands, as if he wanted to mark a distance, something unnecessary, since Dean, has not moved from the place. 

“Enough!,” shouts. “That's enough... You're as drunk as a lord, so right now you get into bed and go to sleep. We'll talk tomorrow... or better yet, no, we're not talking. Just..., just sleep.”

Sam pushes him by the shoulders and forces him to lie down, pulls the blanket and covers him. Dean's face becomes anguished. 

“Don't you love me?,” he asks in an accusing tone. Sam sighs desperately.

“Of course I love you, you're my brother.”

“I don't love you like that” he sulks. 

“Dean...”

Sam is about to go into crisis, with his heart facing reason, knowing that he can't give up, even if it's costing him his life, because Dean looks at him in a way that warms him up inside, that speeds up his heart and makes it difficult for him to breathe. The blonde stretches his arm and grabs his neck of the shirt, pulling on him and forcing him to come closer. His glances cross, both questioning, nervous, full of doubts. Alcohol finally serves as something, breaks taboos, cuts ties of years and gives the necessary courage or simply, the ability to act without thinking. 

That's why Dean pushes himself and his lips touch those of his brother, soft, warm attempts. Sam closes his eyes, his breath becomes heavy, he knows that he must move away, but he doesn't feel capable, he just wants a little more, to know a little more about the taste of his brother's lips; that's why he responds to the kiss, enjoying Dean's fluffy lips, letting his tongue caress him, opening his mouth, allowing him in and groaning with pleasure when his own tongue, tastes the bitter taste of whisky in that of the blonde. 

The kiss ends and both breathe agitated, front to front, still breathing the breath of the other. Good sense returns to Sam's mind and says what it doesn't want to say, but what is necessary. 

“This is not right, Dean. You're too drunk and I... shouldn't....” Sam has his eyes closed, not daring to look at his brother. 

“I'm not drunk,” he says. “I know what I want..., what I've wanted for a long time. Don't you want it?”

Sam wants to laugh, to scream, what if he doesn't want it? It's what he's been wanting, every day, every hour, for ever, but it can't be that way, he needs Dean to tell him in his right mind, he couldn't bear the guilt and the regret of being carried away by a night of alcohol and sorrow. 

“Go to sleep, Dean. We talk tomorrow.” He separates with difficulty and gets into bed, ignoring the disappointed look on his brother's face. It's going to be a long night. At four o'clock in the morning, the mattress sinks next to him, Dean is there, with a helpless look on his face. 

“Can I sleep here?,” he asks quietly. “Just sleep..., I swear. I'm cold...,” he says, looking down. 

Sam looks at him and smiles, Dean is always cold, unlike him, which is a stove with legs; before, when they were younger, there were many times they shared the bed. Sam steps aside and puts the blankets aside, so that his brother can slide inside and then cover them both. Dean surrounds his waist and sticks to his back, purring with pleasure, to fall asleep a moment later. 

In the morning, Sam wakes up with the insidious feeling that someone is watching him, and opens his eyes, only to realize that he wasn't wrong. Dean stands beside him, leaning on his elbow and watching him from above with his eyes twisted. His serious face makes him feel worried. 

“What's going on?,” he asks. 

“I wasn't drunk.” Sam raises an eyebrow sarcastically. “Well, yes, he was drunk, but I meant what I said.” 

“About me being your Valentine?,” jokes the youngest. 

“Yes, I want you to be my Valentine.” Sam looks at him with both eyebrows raised. Dean remains thoughtful, repeating the phrase in his head. “Fucking hell!,” he exclaims, "The truth is that sounds terrible when you don't have a few too many drinks," he says with a frightened face. 

Sam burst out laughing, before the horrified face of his brother, who follows him a second later, falling on the mattress and wiping away the tears caused by the laughter. When it disappears, the two remain motionless, one next to the other, looking at the ceiling of the room. 

“Everything I said is true,” he says after a while. Sam remains silent and Dean waits, until he can't do it anymore. “Don't you have anything to say?,” he asks, partly fearing the answer. 

Sam sits up, and as he had done himself only a moment before, he leans on his elbow, and then stares at him. Dean holds his gaze, frightened, but determined to accept anything, with the tranquility of the one who did everything he could, now the ball is not in his court. The youngest bends over, without taking his gaze away from his and kisses him gently, a chaste caress that says more than can be said in words. 

“Yes,” he says with a small smile. “I want to be your Valentine.”

END


	2. WITH YOU, BREAD AND ONIONS

WITH YOU, BREAD AND ONIONS  
Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki (J2)

By: Saphirott

“Awesome! This is awesome,” he muttered between his teeth as he kept walking. The rain fell into a thick curtain, which made it imposible for him from seeing more than a metre in front and soaked him from head to toe, adding the weight of the wet clothes attached to his body to the weight of the suitcase he was painfully dragging along that deserted road. 

“Why should I listen to you?.... if I don't know...”, he kept telling. “Why the hell should I listen to you?,” he asked, turning his head and twisting his eyes, trying to see the person walking on his back. 

Jared advanced with his head bowed, his hair soaked, covering part of his face which, although Jensen could not see it, bore a mortified expression. Like the blond one, he dragged his own suitcase, while, with his free hand, he lifted his mobile every so often, trying to find some coverage, which seemed impossible in that hidden place. 

“Aren't you going to say anything?,” he continued to be annoyed. 

Jared closed his eyes for a moment and sighed wearily, thinking what the hell had happened so that a getaway he had been planning for months and which had to be something relaxed, romantic and fun, would have turned overnight into a nightmare wrapped up in an atmosphere typical of a Hitchcock film. 

They had months of exhausting work, the new season was turning out to be hard, and to that, were added the numerous extra commitments, such as interviews, conventions and different apparitions that they had signed and that practically did not leave them time to enjoy something of tranquility, in their practically new relationship of couple. Jared had been thinking about it, and although it was a bit corny, Valentine's Day had given him the perfect excuse to organize a little getaway for both of them, somewhere quiet, where they didn't have to worry about keeping up appearances. 

Megan was the one who had told him about that place, apparently one of her friends visited it regularly and spoke marvels about it; she even recommended accommodation. A small farm, surrounded by old leafy trees, which gave privacy to a beautiful wooden cabin. The photos he had been seeing on the internet were really appealing, so it didn't take him long to contact the owner and book the date. Two hours later, he had the plane tickets and the reservation of the rental car. He had been really excited during the whole process, and he was even more so, when he told Jensen about it and could see how he, too, was excited about the idea. 

Everything went wrong, at the same time the plane landed. Well, it would be better to nuance, not an airplane, an small plane. Only those small aircraft were able to land in that ridiculously short, scary landing strip, located between trees and mountains. In the only multipurpose office in the so-called "airport", a middle-aged man, chewing gum and looking bored, informed them that the car they had rented had suffered a mishap and would not be available for the next twenty-four hours. To the amazement of both of them, there were no more cars, the man told them that it was not usual for foreigners to visit that place. 

After trying, reasonably but unsuccessfully, to find a solution to the transport problem, Jared got, in what could be said, a state of anger of epic proportions, and of course, that, added to Jared's size and demeanor, impressed the apathetic clerk quite a bit; who, after several calls, got them a small utility vehicle, which must have been almost the same years as the two of them together, but which at least would take them to the cabin. Or that was the idea...

After an hour of tortuous and slow walking through what the locals called a road, but which they could only describe as a forest track, full of potholes and stones, the radiator had begun to smoke, the temperature rose suddenly and the old car ended its agony with an overwhelming stertor before dying altogether. He really hurt his hand as he hit the steering wheel with rage, under Jensen's incredulous gaze. The coverage was non-existent, after an hour in the car, without a soul passing by, made a quick calculation with the map and thought it would be better to move, in an hour and a half or so, could reach the cabin and also had the possibility that, somewhere along the way, find coverage. 

It was clear that they were city men, they were not good at calculations, nor at orientation, nor at anything to do with being lost in the middle of nowhere. The sky had covered itself in a record time, surrounding them with darkness even though it was not yet seven o'clock in the afternoon; what had begun as a small spark, had ended in the torrential rain that was hitting them right now and that was robbing them of their strength, while at the same time warming their moods. And so now Jensen was angry and he was about to cry of impotence and trying to avoid a discussion, which was only going to hurt them.

“Aren't you going to say anything?,” Jensen had asked. 

“I've told you I'm sorry," he replied in a defeated voice, and then passed in front of the blond, opening the march. Jensen followed him, after abruptly kicking a branch, still mumbling his rage. 

After a time that became eternal, they saw a small wooden sign indicating the beginning of the property. Both sighed relieved, the night had fallen on them and they hardly saw with the flashlight of the mobiles, that at least, had served for something useful. They lightened their step, when they distinguished between the dark curtain of water, the black shadows that should outline the contour of the cabin. The nervous but relieved laughter that had sprouted when they finally knew they were safe froze on their faces when they were close enough to get an idea of the state of the place. 

“It can't be...,” whispered Jensen. Jared was pale, in front of the door, stunned by the rickety wood and not daring to look at his partner. “This is a joke, isn't it?,” he continued to raise his voice a little more. “This is a fucking joke!,” he shouted at last. “You've gone too far Jay..., I swear, this time you've gone too far,” he said rubbing his face with his hand. 

“I'm sorry, Jen.... I..., I didn't...” Jared looked without believing, following with his eyes the whole contour of that dilapidated place, whose wood was cracked and rotten with moisture in the walls and whose floor was sinking dangerously; the windows were opaque and a bench in the entrance, was leaning precariously, because of the lack of a leg. “I don't know Jensen... I swear, I don't understand anything," he said in a strangled voice. Jensen breathed in forcefully while the bridge of the nose was being squeezed. 

“It doesn't matter... Let's go inside, let's go. At least we won't get wet. Or so I hope...” 

He took the doorknob and after a little struggle, he managed to open it. He could not decide what was more desolate, the interior or the exterior. The light flickered unsteadily in a small bulb hanging from a wire, threatening to increase the headache that had been with him for some time. A thick layer of dust covered the old furniture that had undoubtedly seen better days. The place was small, a living room, kitchen, with a small fireplace; a bedroom, with a double bed and a couple of bedside tables and a bathroom, so narrow, that he would have to go into the shower tray to leave the necessary space to be able to close the door. 

“At least there are clean sheets...,” said the blond opening the door of the wardrobe. 

Jared stood in the middle of that kitchen, motionless, looking disheartened from one side to the other, not knowing what to do and feeling terribly bad. That was not what he had imagined, that was an absurd joke, a nightmare. Jensen was angry and he was right, he would be lucky if after that he didn't send him packing. He and his absurd ideas. If they had stayed at home, they would now be relaxing on the couch, enjoying a movie or doing other much more pleasant things. It was all his fault. 

Jensen was leaving the room, after having put the sheets on the bed, when he saw him standing there, with that expression of concern and guilt. 

“Ehh...” he said softly, approaching him. “I'm sorry I yelled at you. I was nervous, tired and..., look at us, we're soaked.” Jensen touched his arm affectionately, calling his attention. 

“I..., I don't know what to say... I'm sorry...,” he answered with his head bowed, “this is not at all what he had planned.” 

The light from the ceiling blinked brightly and both looked up worried. After four or five threats, it finally went out, leaving them in the dark. 

“Shit!,” he muttered. 

“Jay...”

“No, fuck! I'm going to bed..., I'm sorry, I really am..." he replied with a strangled voice. 

“Jay...,” but the boy had already passed by, and he was getting naked in the room, looking for a dry pyjama and getting into bed, he made a ball, covering himself up to the face. 

Jensen looked at him sadly, despite his fit of anger, he knew that Jared had made an effort to prepare something special for both of them. He was like that for everything, enthusiastic and devoted, with the same illusion as a child. He felt fortunate to have him by his side, to feel his overflowing energy infecting him every morning. He changed his clothes, praying that they wouldn't catch pneumonia after that and thinking what to say so that the eyes of the chestnut would regain the brightness that they looked that same morning and that it was now overshadowed by disappointment and sadness. 

In the light of the mobile phone, he found some wood and was able to light a small fire in the chimney that, apart from the heat, brought a bit of light in that penumbra in which they were. He shuffled through drawers and cupboards, until finally he found several candles that he strategically arranged and that gave him a little peace of mind. 

In the process of investigation, he had found several useful things and little by little, he was conforming an idea in his head. It took him about an hour to prepare everything, and when he finished, he had a satisfied smile on his lips. He entered the room and sat on the bed next to Jared, caressing his shoulder lovingly.

“Are you awake?,” he asked softly. Jared curled himself more, as if he were able to hide the enormous body that accompanied him. Jensen laughed quietly and brought his hand, this time, to his forehead, pulling away his still wet hair, gently caressing his face. “Come on…, you can't fool me. I know you're awake, you snore.”

“I don't snore,” he protested with a pout, turning a little on the bed and looking at his face. His eyes glowed wet and Jensen knew he had cried, yet he decided to obviate it and not increase his shame. 

“Yes, you do,” he mocked, bowing to give him a quick kiss on the lips. “Come on, why don't you get up for a while? It's still early.”

“Really..., I don't feel like it," he answered in a muted tone. Jensen tangled his hand with his and stood up, pulling his arm.

“Come on, after you've dragged me here, you can't say no to me. You owe me...”

“Fuck, Jen... don't throw it in my face anymore, I feel pretty bad...,” he replied, looking down. 

“Come onnnn..." said the blond man, squeezing his hand. 

Jared reluctantly got up and dragged him into the living room, precariously lit by candles but still looking strangely warm. Two of them were located in the middle of the table, which was set. Some chipped earthenware plates, a couple of unequal glasses, as well as cutlery that had to belong to three different cutlery and what seemed to be food in different bowls and dishes. 

“What is all this? Where did you get it?,” he asked in amazement. Jensen offered him one of his perfect smiles and accompanied him to the table. 

“Sit down.” he asked, “rummaging around, I found several cans.” Jared looked at him suspiciously. “Don't worry, look at the expiration dates, they're in good condition, we're not going to get intoxicated or anything like that, I hope, with the luck we're bringing... I took the potatoes and the few nuts we were carrying for the trip and I made up an improvished dinner. What do you think?”

“I don't know what to say...,” he replied nervously while sitting down. “I think it's incredible...” And finally, Jensen saw that smile he loved so much appear again. 

Well,” he said with a gesture of the hand, subtracting importance, “not so incredible... I haven't found anything of alcohol,” he continued while he had just filled the glasses with an amber liquid. Jared raised an eyebrow and shook the brick in his hand . “Doesn't that ring a bell? Apple juice,” he shrugged. Jared couldn't help it, a loud laughter escaped from his chest, resounding loudly throughout the room. 

“You're crazy...,” he said at last when he managed to calm down.

“Yeah, well... I have to be a little bit to put up with you, don't I?.” His eyes shone in a funny, but intense look that was gnawing at the chestnut. Jared shook his head as he bit his lip in a way that was wreaking havoc on the blond's mind. 

“Thank you...” The tone was low and warm, and at times the air felt denser as his eyes continued to explore. 

“It doesn't deserve them, after all, this was all your idea...,” he replied with a smile.

“Yes... This whole mes,” he laugth, “I'd have been better off sitting still.”

“Look Jay..., what I'm going to say is a kitschy of unimaginable proportions and I'll always deny having said it, even if I'm tortured. But..., no matter the place, no matter the situation, wet, in a hut that falls apart, in the middle of nowhere, without light...; everything is fine if I am with you. And even if I yell at you or complain to you as if I’m head off, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else but by your side. You make me happy, Jay. I am happier with you,” he sentenced, to the astonishment of the chestnut that looked at him in astonishment. 

Jared leaned over the table and took one of the glasses in his hand, inviting Jensen to accompany him. 

“Happy Valentine's Day..." he whispered as a toast. 

“Happy Valentine's Day..., to the first of many...” he replied, toasting. 

Jared left the glass on the table, approaching Jensen and looking for his lips, delighting in them, forgetting everything that had happened, to focus on that warmth that always transmitted to him, that feeling of being in the right place and with the right person. Jensen responded to the kiss, in a slow and inciting way, subtly provoking him with his tongue, making him want much more. 

“Shall we have dinner?,” asked the blond, when they finally separated. The green of his eyes was cloudy, as he spilled his warm breath on his lips. 

“I think my hunger is gone," he replied, as he slid his huge hands over the thighs of the eldest. 

A ladino smile appeared on Jensen's lips, his eyes darkened, fulled with desire, as he attracted the face of the youngest, with a possessive hand on his neck, intensifying a kiss that had begun with a certain tenderness, to transform it into something wild and charged with need. Jared put up no resistance and gave himself to him with the same enthusiasm as the blonde and moving until he sat astride his legs. 

The hands were lost under the clothes, probing known and warm places, bristling the skin in its way, making it sweat, vibrate, contract... The mouths were undone, filled with all kinds of kisses, mistreated by the teeth, healed by the tongues; ardent, desirous, curious.... 

They ended up in bed, rocking each other, extracting needy groans, feeding on them, satiating in the heat and surrender of the other body. The night passed in a moment and the dawn found them, satiated and sweaty, resting one in the arms of the other. 

“Who is there?.” The scream startled them both. “Who is it? Get out! This is private property...”

The two of them jumped out of bed, looking for startleds their pajamas. They jumped out cautiously, to find a man in his sixties looking at them perplexed with a shotgun in his hand. Jared raised his palms in peace. 

“Hey, hey, hey... Relax... Who are you? We've rented this place," he said, moving slowly towards the man. Jensen held him by the arm to keep him in place, looking worried at the gun he was carrying. 

“Rented?,” he asked perplexed. Suddenly his eyes opened as if he had had a revelation. “Are you Mr. Padalecki?.” Jared nodded shyly and to his relief, the man lowered his weapon. “And what are you doing here?”

Now they were the ones looking at him without understanding.

“Why aren't they in the cabin?,” both looked perplexed.

“What?" asked Jensen. "This is the cabin, we're in the cabin, aren't we? We passed a sign with the name of the country estate..., it's supposed to be here,” he lucubried looking for an explanation. To the amazement of both of them, the man started laughing out loud. 

“But hadn't you seen the pictures of the house?”

“Yes,” said Jared, “but we arrived at night, there was nothing to be seen and the only thing we found was this. We thought it was one of those false offers.”

The man looked at them with some pity, as he wiped away the tears that streamed from his laughter. Their face had left the surprise, to reflect some annoyance at the attitude of the guy, who did nothing but laugh in his face. 

“Come on, get out," said the man, waving his hand to be followed. The night of torrential rain had given way to a clear morning, in which the sun's rays were reflected in the prism of the drops, which still adorned the blades of grass and the leaves of the trees. About three hundred yards away stood a beautiful cabin, which Jared instantly recognized. They turned with a critical glance at where they were, and then looked at the man again in question. 

“It's the old hut where the workers were staying while the house was being built," said the man, understanding the silent question. "It hasn't been used for centuries, and they're lucky it didn't fall on your heads on a night like last night.”

“Yes, luckily...,” said Jensen in an angry tone and looking at Jared with a frown. “I kill you,” he said, “oh yeah, now I'll kill you.”

Jared looked at the brand-new cabin, just a few feet away, thinking of everything that had happened the night before and burst out laughing. He grabbed Jensen's cheeks and drew him in a slow, deep kiss, not caring at all about the man's presence. 

“I have to remember you everything you said to me last night... Besides..., there, we would not have been such a special night there at all,” he said kissing him again. Jensen smiled at the kiss, giving himself to it with pure languor. 

“I love you," he said, when they finally parted. 

“I love you too...”

End


End file.
